


dizzy on the comedown

by amillionsmiles



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Small Town, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-30 09:11:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20094838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amillionsmiles/pseuds/amillionsmiles
Summary: “Stars are the only thing I’ll miss about this place, probably.” Even as he said it, though, he knew it wasn’t true; there was the belltower and the trailer park and the way the sunrise seemed to set the grass on fire, and the dark, quiet corner of Mo’s where if you pressed your ear to the wall you could feel the vibrations from the band practicing in the basement. But it was molting season: time to trade in the old feathers for new wings.Keith, Katie, and the light of a small town moon.





	dizzy on the comedown

**Author's Note:**

> written for the [Kidge Zine!](https://kidgezine.tumblr.com/)
> 
> the atmospheric playlist I made to listen to while writing can be heard [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6nWEU1ZMGMpjRNhZbqQeCv?si=in_9326ATmyG6fcac7icHw)

At this point in his life, Keith had two things going for him. Graduation, and—

Okay, well. Maybe just the one.

Above Mrs. Finkle’s head, the clock crept at a snail’s pace. Time moved slowly enough in Arus already—call it the universal law of small towns—but detention, Keith hypothesized, was where it froze in cryogenic sleep. If not for the one other student sitting two rows behind him and to the left, Keith could have convinced himself he was in bed at home, dreaming.

That was how most days felt, in the midst of senior spring. Like he could just float in and out of them until summer, when he’d be gone for good. As far as cities went, Altea hardly had the glitz and glamor of somewhere like New York, but its population of 100,000 was massive compared to Arus’s 1,800, and for that, Keith couldn’t wait.

In the meantime, though, he saved up his money and cut class. Which had been working just fine until he’d dropped by to grab an assignment and Iverson had spotted him, hightailed it down the corridor, and grabbed Keith by the scruff of his jean jacket before he could get away.

Dragging his attention away from the minute hand, Keith went back to fiddling with the radio on his desk. It was his mom’s, a vintage dark beige beauty that had started glitching last week. Despite not being much of a repairman, Keith hoped to fix it in time for her birthday this weekend. Mrs. Finkle ignored him, tongue darting out to wet her finger as she flipped another page of her book.

Keith messed with a wire and turned the dial. Nothing but static at first, but slowly the faint strains of music overcame the crackle. Keith smiled, stopping short when a ball of paper hit the back of his head. 

He turned around. His detention-mate stared back at him with a steady gaze, hazelnut brown hair bundled in two messy braids. Katie Holt, sophomore. One older brother, Matt, who’d graduated last year. Her dad was an astrophysics professor while her mom bounced between running the local library and volunteering at the observatory up in the hills. Keith knew all these facts through no extra effort of his own, the same way everyone knew that his dad had died putting out the fire on Mr. McComb’s farm back in 2008.

What he didn’t know was why Katie was in detention. She didn’t exactly seem like the rabble-rousing type. Then again, maybe the fact that she looked so unassuming was exactly what made her trouble.

Impatiently, Katie jerked her head toward the crumpled ball behind him. Frowning, Keith swiveled in his chair and scooped it up, flattening it on his desk.

_ Nice,  _ read the note. 

Meaning the radio, probably. He glanced back at Katie and raised a single eyebrow in acknowledgement. At the front of the classroom, Mrs. Finkle’s chair scraped backwards as she stood up.

Though it took 30 seconds for her to leave the room and turn the corner toward the bathrooms, it felt like a year. Once she’d left, Keith put the radio in his backpack and swung it over his shoulder. He didn’t know Katie well enough to say anything meaningful out loud, but he granted her a brief nod of acknowledgement before turning his back. 

“Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving.” He poked his head out into the hallway to make sure no one was around. The agreement with Mrs. Finkle was simple: as long as nobody saw him busting out, she could plead innocence, and they could both move on with their respective afternoons.

“Isn’t skipping detention just going to get you… more detention?”

At that, Keith turned to lean against the doorframe. Katie had moved to stand beside him, hands curled around the straps of her backpack.

“Trust me, I do it all the time.”

“In that case...” Katie tilted her head. “Lead the way.” 

Katie Holt had a bossy streak, apparently. Without further conversation, Keith started down the hallway.

“Do you have some sort of secret arrangement with Mrs. Finkle?” asked Katie, hot on his heels.

“No, she just doesn’t care. I got top marks on all the state evals, and I pretty much carry the class average.” Keith didn’t say it to brag; he’d overheard Mrs. Finkle use the exact same reasoning in an argument with Iverson once. “Besides, detention wastes her time just as much as it wastes ours— _ hey. _ ”

Katie had grabbed his forearm, yanking him to the right. 

“Coach Sendak always gets his coffee in the break room around this time,” she hissed. “I thought you said you did this a lot.”

“No need to be critical,” grumbled Keith. 

They’d finally reached the parking lot. His red pickup truck, shabby as it was, beckoned like a jewel. Before he could head in its direction, though, he made the mistake of glancing over at Katie. She looked on the brink of asking him something, the determination on her face surprisingly imposing considering her stature.

Exhaling, Keith ran a hand through his hair. “What?”

Just as quickly, Katie’s expression transitioned to innocence. “What?” 

He leveled her with a look that read, clearly: _I don't have time for this. “What_ are you about to ask?”

She shifted. “I need a ride home. 23rd and Walnut.”

“That’s four traffic lights past Greasy Sal’s, right?”

“Yeah.”

“All right, fine.” Keith gestured for her to walk with him. At his truck, he pulled open the driver’s door, tossing his bag into the backseat. “Get in.”

o.O.o

“Dammit.” For the third time, Katie jiggled the door handle, rapping on the door. “Nobody’s home.”

“Window?” suggested Keith.

Katie shot him a flat look. “I’m not breaking into my own house.”

“Okay, then…” Keith crossed his arms. The Holts’ porch was small, painted gray while the rest of the house was white. A bristly brown welcome mat printed with a cactus laid in front of the screen door; cacti seemed to be a recurring motif, if the several growing in the yard were anything to go by. 

He took a deep breath.

“Listen, I’ve got a paper route that starts in fifteen minutes. So either you stay here, or you come with. But I’m leaving.”

“Gee, you’re really selling the appeal of your company,” said Katie. “I’m in.”

It took Keith a second to process, during which Katie sailed past him and back to his car. “You’re—what?”

“I’m in.” Opening the passenger side door, she clambered inside. “Come on—I don’t want to be blamed for you being late.”

o.O.o

As far as newspapers went, the  _ Arus Gazette  _ would hardly win any awards for its journalism. But much like playing in the Little League or driving to nearby Olkari Springs for Labor Day Weekend, subscription to it was time-honored tradition, a given if you’d grown up in town.

“How long does it usually take you to deliver all these?” Katie asked, pushing aside a newspaper tube that had encroached on the space between them.

“Two hours. If you’re trying to get homework done, you could probably just use the dashboard as a desk.”

Shaking her head, Katie leaned back in the seat. “Nah, I get carsick.”

“Suit yourself,” answered Keith, just as the traffic light ahead of them blinked sleepily from yellow to red. The foot he put down on the brake pedal felt like a dampener on the mood in the car; in the silence, Katie turned away from him to stare out the window, her fingers laced in her lap. It was weird. Usually, Keith cared little about forcing conversation. He hadn’t promised he’d entertain her for tagging along on his errand run. Still…

“How’d you get thrown in detention?”

Katie turned toward him, blinking in surprise. “You really want to know?”

Keith shrugged. “Might as well.” 

“Hm.” The seatbelt shifted as Katie wriggled around to face him fully. “You know Lance, right?”

“Yeah.” Former Little League rival and youngest child of the McClains, who ran the only Cuban restaurant in town. “What about him?”

“So, basically I rigged the water fountain outside Mrs. Sanda’s classroom to spray in his face, which didn’t go over so well because—” Here, she adopted a high-pitched, nasal tone, “—‘we’re in the middle of a drought!’”

Keith cracked a smile. “Was it worth it?”

“100%. So what’s _ your _ deal? Is all the delinquency just a bad case of senioritis?”

“Detention doesn’t make me a  _ delinquent. _ ” 

“At its broadest definition, delinquency means misbehavior, and I’d say playing hooky counts.”

“You’re kind of a smartass,” Keith observed.

Katie remained unfazed. “I’ve gotta be, if I ever want to get out of here.”

At that, Keith’s ears perked. Very few people broke beyond Arus’s event horizon. For most travelers, it was a pit stop, but once you settled, you stayed. That was what had happened to his mom: she’d been passing through on her way to a motorcycling convention when her bike had broken down. Keith’s dad arrived to save the day. Three months later, they’d married in the town courthouse, a September wedding, escorted home by a fleet of men and women in leather jackets—members of Mom’s former motorcycle club, the Blades.

“Where to?” 

“East coast,” said Katie. “Or maybe Midwest. As long as it’s somewhere cold. I want to see snow.”

“These desert nights aren’t cold enough for you?”

“It’s not the same. What about you? Everyone knows you’re ditching for Altea.”

“Yeah. They’ve got the nearest police academy.” 

Katie’s eyes brightened. She had an uncanny way of looking at him, as if he were a gadget she wanted to figure out the innermost workings of. “You’re going to be a police officer?” 

Drumming his fingers against the steering wheel, Keith quirked an eyebrow. “If this is the setup for another joke about me being a delinquent…”

Katie pouted. “I’m more creative than  _ that _ .”

“Good to know. Can you pass me one of the newspapers?”

Obliging, Katie handed him a tube as he rolled down the driver’s side window. With a flick of the wrist, Keith sent the bundle arcing through the air. It landed with a satisfying  _ splat _ on the front porch, right up against the door. Beside him, Katie whistled.

“Twenty points if you can get it to land directly on the welcome mat,” said Keith, reaching behind him to grab another roll. He held it out between them in challenge.

Katie’s eyes sparked. “You’re on.” 

What Keith knew about Katie Holt: she liked a good prank, she wanted out of Arus, and when she grinned, a dimple appeared high on her right cheek. And now he also knew the curve of her shoulder underneath her green flannel, a corded strength only hinted at before, when she’d grabbed him in the hallway. Katie had a wicked strong arm for somebody so small.

“I used to pitch for my brother,” explained Katie, her slight smirk a sign that she’d caught him noticing.

Two could play ball. “In that case,” said Keith, letting their fingers touch this time as he passed her another newspaper, “Batter up.” 

  
o.O.o

The pink and blue of Coran’s Convenience shone invitingly against the night sky as Keith pulled into the parking lot. Wasting no time in unbuckling her seatbelt, Katie leaped out of the car, leaning against the ice machine as she waited for him to catch up.

It didn’t feel like they’d spent the last eight hours together; in fact, Keith was almost reluctant to see the end. They’d made a game of the rest of his paper route, competing to see who could throw faster or with more accuracy. Afterwards, dinner at Flo’s Diner, where between the two of them they’d devoured a healthy serving of chili cheese fries, crispy fish sliders, and apple pie. And now, to close the night, Slurpees from Coran’s.

Coran was Arus’s resident redhead and town gossip. Like a homing beacon, his head whipped toward the entrance when the bell overhead jingled. Somewhat protectively, Keith steered Katie so that the chip aisle obscured them from view as they headed toward the back, where the white lemon, blue raspberry, and cherry ice churned in their respective containers.

Halfway through filling his cup with cherry, Keith was interrupted.

“You’re doing it wrong,” said Katie, taking over. “The trick is to layer all the flavors.”

Keith took the package of Twizzlers she thrust at him, watching Katie top off the Slurpee’s blue raspberry layer with practiced precision.

“You’re a sick little genius, but I’ll take it.” 

“Watch who you’re calling little,” she warned. “Corn Pops?” 

Keith made a face. “Pass.”

“All right.”

At the cash register, Coran rang up their total with a twinkle in his eye. “How’s your mom doing, Keith?”

Reaching for his wallet, Keith shrugged. “She’s fine.”

“Gonna miss you when you leave for Altea, I bet.”

“I’m not disappearing off the grid, just moving. I’ll visit.” 

“Mhmm. And what about you, Little Holt?” teased Coran. “Running around with this one now that Matt’s gone—I hope he hasn’t gotten you into any trouble.”

“We met in detention, actually,” said Keith, finally done counting his change. “Here. $5.79.”

Sensing Keith was a dead end, Coran swept the bills and coins into his hand and redirected his wiles toward Katie with more vigor.

“Trade  _ that _ story for a Slim Jim.”

“Two Slim Jims and a pack of Mentos,” Katie countered.

Coran laughed, running a thumb over his mustache. “Deal.”

After laying the negotiated items on the counter, Coran leaned over to let Katie whisper in his ear. Meanwhile, Keith sipped the Slurpee, shivering slightly as the cold rushed to his head. Coran’s grin had pulled higher; Keith narrowed his eyes at Katie, wondering what she’d just said. 

Once they’d escaped Coran’s gleeful “Stay safe, kids!” he had a chance to ask.

“What’d you tell him?” 

“Something much more exciting than the truth,” grinned Katie, stashing their additional haul of Slim Jims and Mentos in the cup holder. “So, where to next?”

In the eerie white-blue lights of the gas station, her lips shone. She hadn’t redone her braids since the afternoon, and the wispy tangles framed her face, giving her a wild softness. It suddenly seemed impossible that Keith had lived all this time at Arus without casting her anything more than a second glance. 

He braced a hand on the back of her headrest, getting ready to reverse. “I know a place.”

o.O.o

Keith’s boots clanged heavily as he climbed onto the bed of his truck. Katie had already spread out the blankets; she reclined on them now, elbows jutting out on either side of her head like two bony bird wings.

The cold desert air, combined with the condensation from the Slurpee, numbed Keith’s fingers. When he hit the lemon layer, his nose wrinkled. Wordlessly, he passed the cup to Katie, who accepted with a gleeful look that let him know this had probably been her plan all along.

“Do you do this often?” she asked.

Keith followed her gaze to where the roads out of Arus dissolved into black ribbons through the dry brush. Every so often, a car’s headlight appeared. In the distance, you could just barely make out the lights of another town, but it was mostly cactus and mountains and big desert sky.

“Yeah. My dad used to drive me out here whenever I needed to blow off steam.” He rested his chin on his knees, staring at the horizon line. 

A rustle. Katie sat up beside him. “Was it in this car?”

Keith smiled. “Yeah.”

“That explains why the engine sounds so clunky then. You’ve had it for forever.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Keith watched her. The starlight seemed to catch on her freckles, making them glimmer. He wanted to ask if she believed in ghosts. Not the evil, vindictive kind, but the restless sort. The type that might possess you to drive to the outskirts of town and sit in that liminal space between everything you’d known and everything you wanted to be.

“What’s your favorite constellation?” asked Katie, breaking his reverie.

“Aquila,” Keith answered readily. “I like how bright it gets in the summer. And I’ve always liked birds of prey.”

“Poetic.” 

“Stars are the only thing I’ll miss about this place, probably.” Even as he said it, though, he knew it wasn’t true; there was the belltower and the trailer park and the way the sunrise seemed to set the grass on fire, and the dark, quiet corner of Mo’s where if you pressed your ear to the wall you could feel the vibrations from the band practicing in the basement. But it was molting season: time to trade in the old feathers for new wings.

“Well, that sucks,” Katie said. “Because even though we just started hanging out… I think I’ll miss you.” 

Behind her head, the moon peeked out like an angel’s halo.  _ Messy,  _ he thought—about Katie’s hair, about  _ this,  _ starting something only to leave it behind, but.  _ I’m not disappearing off the grid, just moving. I’ll visit.  _

Gently, he reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind Katie’s ear. This new call was softer, more fragile than the one drawing him away from Arus, but it thud in his chest all the same.

“There’s room to add other things to the list,” he said, tugging her closer, or maybe _ she _ pulled him—either way, their mouths met in the middle, Katie’s hand curling around the flannel of his shirt, both a departure and an arrival, all at once. The glare from a passing headlight infiltrated the corner of his vision; instinctively, Keith turned away from it, nestling his face in the side of Katie’s head. Her hair smelled like a tangle of all the places they’d been today, hamburger grease mingled with desert air and notes of coconut.

“You’re trouble, Keith Kogane,” said Katie. She wrinkled her nose when she said it, and Keith was almost embarrassed by how fond he was of the gesture, already. It crackled in his chest, like a radio picking up a signal after hours of silence.

“So are you.”

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me on [tumblr](https://amillionsmiles.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/mnonoaware) :)


End file.
